Christmas Wishes
by oldmule
Summary: Christmas, snow, Harry, Ruth. Short piece, probably a oneshot.


**A belated Happy Christmas to everyone.**

* * *

Harry sat alone.

The light from outside radiated in, bouncing off the fresh snowfall that was, as of yet, unsullied and unspoilt by the passing of traffic and too many feet. True, it wasn't Christmas Day, but it was close enough to still feel both special and festive. The room in which he sat was warm and welcoming. He rolled the whiskey around in its glass, savouring the moment, watching the snowflakes fall.

Catherine had called. Graham hadn't.

He inhaled a deep lungful of air and relaxed. It was good not to be fighting the good fight; welcome to feel the stress slide from his shoulders; necessary in fact, to recharge his batteries, as his mother would have said. Tomorrow he would no doubt feel differently; tomorrow he would be bored, frustrated and stir crazy; tomorrow he would need the rush of adrenalin which was now an intrinsic part of his metabolism.

And tomorrow he would see her.

* * *

Ruth sat alone. Her chair pulled beside the window as she gazed out at the blanket of white draped across the rooftops, the walls, even the road: a smooth creaseless cover, untouched and unruffled.

She cradled the steaming mug of tea in her hands, jumper sleeves pulled right down covering her palms. She should move away from the window, it would at least be a little warmer, yet she didn't.

Her mother had called. Her aunt had called. Her oldest friend from university had called.

She glanced down at the book on her lap but decided the snow was more appealing. Perhaps in a little while she would curl up on the sofa under the duvet with a box of maltesers and watch an old movie. It was good to let her brain have a day off, to have time without speculation and theory, to know lives didn't depend on the probabilities she suggested.

And yet she would be glad to return to the Grid. To him.

* * *

The phone rang, ripping through the quiet air and disturbing its stillness.

The offending article was lifted from its cradle.

"Hi," said a gentle voice, which she knew so well.

"Hi."

"I just wanted to wish you a merry Christmas, Ruth."

"Belatedly," she suggested, a smile in her voice.

"Indeed, belatedly."

"Better late than never, Harry."

"Well, I suppose that's me … usually too late to say whatever needs saying."

"Depends what it is that needs saying?" she ventured.

A moment passed.

"Well , in this case it's a belated merry Christmas, but I could be the first to wish you a happy new year, Ruth."

"On boxing day. Yes, you're right, you would indeed be the first."

"I hope it brings you all that you might wish for," his voice was quiet, genuine, caring.

She wanted to say something. Anything.

"A new boiler would be good," was all she eventually managed.

"Boiler?"

"It's gone off. Can't get a plumber," she blustered, "Still at least the duvet's warm."

There was a pause. She felt a little less cold, that is to say her reddened cheeks did.

"I meant …"

"I know what you meant, Ruth," he was smiling, "Right. Well, I better let you crawl back underneath it before you catch pneumonia."

"Right, yes," she murmured, wishing he wouldn't go.

"Bye then, Ruth."

"See you tomorrow."

Both hesitated in putting down the phone.

"Harry…?"

"Yes."

"Happy New Year."

"Thank you."

"I wish you all that you might long for too, Harry."

There was another pause.

"Goodbye Ruth," he whispered, huskily.

"Goodbye Harry."

* * *

The doorbell rang. It was an hour after the phonecall. She had never moved from the window, choosing instead to gaze into the semi distance, her focus lost amidst the snow, lost in the possibilities of all that she would and could wish for.

She was frozen but it was only as she strode to the door that she vaguely noticed.

The man on the step looked at her.

"You look perished," he said.

"I am."

She considered asking him who he was but didn't get the chance as he stepped inside closing the door behind him.

"Good job I'm here then. Right, lead me to the boiler."

"The boiler?"

"Mr Pearce said it was a matter of life and death and I'm not one to argue with him, so like I say, miss, lead me to the boiler."

She smiled and nodded him through.

* * *

Harry's phone buzzed an alert in his pocket. He flicked it on.

One name, _Ruth_; one message, '_Thank you, warmth restored!_**'**

He smiled and typed.

'_That's good_'

Ruth gazed at the phone. A man of few words. She leant forward to lay it back on the coffee table but then hesitated.

Harry poured another scotch. His phone buzzed once more.

One name, _Ruth_. One message, '_x'_

He typed.

Ruth's phone vibrated.

One name, _Harry_. One message, '_x_'

And both wondered what they looked forward to most, tomorrow, or the coming of a new year.


End file.
